We're Going To Be Friends
by MikaMurha
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a Judd Nelson-esque bad boy, smoking, lying, and being generally obnoxious-until he meets the perpetually ill, perpetually kindhearted absolute nerd Steve Rogers. Modern high school AU. Bucky x Steve.
1. Help, I'm Alive

Chapter 1: Help, I'm Alive

_I tremble; they're going to eat me alive. _

_If I stumble, they're going to eat me alive._

_Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?_

_Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer. _

_Hard to be soft, tough to be tender._

STEVE

* * *

Like most questionable things start, this entire event began in the gym's locker rooms. It was unbearably humid. The mirrors were fogged. Things were starting to get tense among the growing crowd. Steve, shirtless and out of breath, was currently trying to reach his inhaler. His body strained, jumping from one foot to another reaching and grasping at air, his face turning red as the boys started to laugh at him.

"What's this, Stevie boy? Smoking kush behind Coach's back? Looks like we found your secret stash!" A few more of the team guffawed, throwing his inhaler back and forth, taking a sniff from the canister while wasting the chemical balance. The slight hiss of the air as it escaped the nozzle made Steve's own heart sink.

"I ain't rollin' no reefer, now give it back, Jackson!" Steve nearly huffed, feeling his lungs unable to expand at the strain it was taking. Though growing weary he persisted, nearly getting it in his last attempt.

"Little Steve ain't gonna share. How about we make him work for it?" The guy named Jackson nearly sneered, tossing it from one hand to another right in front of Steve's nose.

"You asked for it," Steve almost hissed swinging his fist, hitting Jackson square in the stomach. Sharp pain shot through his own arm and he winced stumbling back, hearing the roar of laughter hit him before Jackson's own fists enclosed Steve's shirt.

Things after that got momentarily fuzzy.

* * *

Blood dripped from his broken nose onto his white shirt, staining the cotton fibers. Injury wasn't uncommon coming from Steve, and as he applied ice to his head the nurse prattled on, pacing from her desk to her record cabinet. "This is your fourth fight this month, Rogers. If I didn't know you so well I'd think you were trying to get yourself killed. How many inhalers have they gone through this time? I can't keep refilling it for you. You've got to learn to keep out the way."

Steve wiped his mouth, staining his fingers red. "I don't like bullies, ma'am. It don't matter how many there are."

"Well they've certainly gained a fondness for you, haven't they?" She pursed her lips, flipping through his file idly when another figure nearly waltzed in, grabbing her attention. Steve sighed in relief, glad to have her gaze off him. The cots made him feel overbearingly small and shrinking against the crackling paper. They were meant for football players injured on the field, not would-be heroes.

Steve gave the new man little to no mind, distracted more by the ache of defeat than anything else. It wasn't until the figure began to speak did Steve finally look at him for the first time.

"Good afternoon, Nurse M." The man's voice was almost gravelly, but smooth, and easily accompanied with a smirk. The man's light eyes glinted slightly. "I see you've kept yourself busy since our last conversation." He was dressed in nearly all black, and the smell of smoke clung to his clothes desperately as if just finishing off a cigarette. It hit Steve briefly, making him feel both nauseated and enthralled at the same time. There was something captivating, the way the man scuffed his boots against the tile without realizing he did so as he leaned against the Nurse's desk. His words rolled off his tongue without a single hesitation as if he spent his whole time on stage spotlights. Steve suddenly felt a lot smaller in comparison.

It took a long moment for Steve to let go of the breath he had been holding, And not without consequence. Without fail he began to cough, closing his eyes momentarily as he gained back proper use of his lungs. When he opened them again he found the stranger's eyes on him. He looked away when the nurse began to speak to him again.

"Jesus Christ, James! How many times do I have to tell you that I cannot be your excuse to be out of class any more! This is getting out of hand! Don't tell me you've been in the smokers lounge again." Nurse M swatted away the stranger's hands as he reached for a lollipop out of her jar.

"Haven't you heard, Miss. M? All the cool kids are calling me Bucky now. It's a trend," Steve couldn't help himself; he kept staring at this Bucky. Confidence radiated off of him in waves, making Steve sit up straighter, subconsciously shifting his weight.

"Whatever your name is, go on and get before the principal walks in to take to our newest book case down to detention," She had lowered her voice, glancing towards Steve.

When Bucky glanced over Steve looked away, shifting again. It suddenly felt too hot in the small space.

"Whatever you say, Miss. M." Bucky then turned, again walking with such style. He only glanced back once, tossing the lollipop he had stolen over towards Steve. "Tell the old man I said hi."

Steve fumbled with the candy at first, catching it and almost dropping it. His head was swimming, and he couldn't tell how much was due to the bruises, and how much it had to do with his latest interaction with the baddest bad boy their high school had ever seen.

Now it could have been the pain talking but Steve swore that he probably just fell for the guy in the leather jacket that smelled like smoke.

Finally, after things quieted down in Steve's chest he looked at the nurse.

"Worthless thing, that James is, no good criminal. Always drinking and smoking, and a compulsive liar at that. Once convinced the entire staff he lost his mother in a car crash so he couldn't take his End of Course. Rotten, completely," She glanced towards Steve, her eyes narrowing. "Now don't tell me Rogers you're thinking of befriending him. That boy is bad news for everybody involved."

Steve ignored the question, approaching the suddenly interesting poster of a dissected heart. "Thank you for the hospitality, but I believe it's time I dealt with my punishment."

"I told the Principal to go easy on you. He knows how hard you've had it recently. Now you stay far far away from that boy, he'll only bring you ruined lungs and regret. Go on then, don't let the door hit you on the way out. We don't need you having another bruise."

Steve chewed on his lip slightly, shifting the ice against his head. "I don't need his sympathy, It was my fault a fight started," He moved towards the door, shouldering his messenger bag. "See you later, Nurse Matthews."

"God forbid," She waved him off. With a slight grin Steve turned back to begin his walk to the principal's office.

* * *

A/N: "Help, I'm Alive" by Metric. Okay, guys, this is my first co-written fic—my partner doesn't have an FF account, but you can find her on tumblr: (anna-dwarf-queen). She is wonderful and awesome, and she wrote this first chapter. You can find me on tumblr as well (kilipains) . Stay tuned! Please review.


	2. Steady As She Goes

Chapter 2

"_Well, here we go again,_

_you've found yourself a friend that knows you well.  
No matter what you do,  
you'll always feel as though you tripped and fell."_

BUCKY

* * *

Bucky Barnes was itching to move around. He'd been good for two das—_two days—_since Nurse M had chewed him out. He'd loitered outside the office, heard her tarnishing his good name to the skinny kid on the cot. He'd thought, _rude. _But he hadn't done anything. They liked it when he didn't do anything.

He, however, did not. He shrugged his jacket up tighter around his broad shoulders with a dramatic flick of his head. Weird how that lean little bleeding blonde boy kept popping up in his head over and over again. He was so small, so fierce and so…well, injured. He'd gotten his ass kicked, but there he was like he had nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe he didn't. He'd been there, all labored breathing and clutching that ice to his face, but somehow still looked like a champion. Bucky rounded the corner into the parking lot, paved and black under the gray afternoon sky. It wasn't dismissal time, but James Barnes dismissed himself. He sauntered past parked cars in his casual way, rapping his fingertips on hoods and windows just to listen to the sound.

He was humming to himself as he noticed a blonde head disappear behind one of the cars. He narrowed his eyes mischievously, digging around in his pocket for a cigarette as he tracked the boy's progress. He was damn _interesting. _Pride and valor and courtesy all packed into, what, 5'4" of respiratory issues? Bucky held the cigarette between his teeth, lighting it and drawing in deeply, feeling the tingling deep in his lungs before he exhaled.

"Hey!" He shouted. The word had just left his lips when it occurred to him that the kid might get the wrong idea. "I don't wanna attack you!" He followed up, blowing smoke out of his nose as he tilted on to his tiptoes to get a glimpse. The kid had stopped moving. "We met in the office." He called over. "Sorta."

The blonde head, now accompanied by a lean body, emerged from between cars to look at Bucky warily. Judging by the way he'd looked the other day, Bucky didn't blame him. He'd looked like Rocky's opponent after the championship. And he'd acted like it was a regular thing. "You gonna come over here, pal?" He called over, more gently, tilting the cigarette between his teeth.

"You're smoking." He pointed out.

"You're short. What's your point?" Bucky countered.

"I have _asthma._" He sighed.

Bucky thought it over for a moment, before dropping his cigarette to stub it out with the toe of his battered boot.

"Better? C'mere." He leaned against the truck behind him, someone's dirty red Toyota. The boy obliged, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his khaki pants as he stepped around bumpers tentatively.

"Do you…want something?" He asked carefully, angled defensively away from Bucky.

"I wanna know your name, I dunno, have a conversation. I don't want to attack you, okay? Chill." He held up his hands innocently. "I'm Bucky."

"I know. I mean, I heard." He paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "I mean, I'm Steve. Steve Rogers." He held out his hand. Raising an eyebrow, Bucky indulged him, shaking it. He couldn't help the slight turn of his lips, the slight smile that appeared on its own when he realized that the boy—Steve—was _nervous. _Like in all situations, Bucky stared the elephant in the face.

"Whatcha nervous about, Steve? Hands all shaky. I don't wanna attack you, you must know that by now. What do you have to be worried about?" He raised an eyebrow.

Steve froze for a fraction of a second. Talking to this guy was like talking to nine different people—you tell one of them you name and the next one has to ask you _why _that's your name.

"All of the people who _do _want to attack me, I guess." He shrugged it away, trying not to notice exactly how blue Bucky' eyes were.

"That's fair. You need a body guard." Bucky said. His hand went to his pocket, as was his habit to smoke during a conversation. For a second, it hovered there, until his mind rested on the thought of accidentally crippling Steve. He defaulted to pull out his Zippo lighter and toy with its cap, flipping it open and closed.

A smile crossed Steve's face, and even though it was wistful and wry, it lit up his thin face like a Christmas tree.

"I don't have the money for that, though, do I?" He leaned against the truck beside Bucky.

"I'll do it." Bucky said, almost too quickly. "You can…help me with homework, or something." He said vaguely, waving his hand. Steve smiled, his head turned away from Bucky. The idea was more appealing than he cared to admit, as were most things about him.

"If I helped you, would you turn it in?" Steve asked.

"Probably not." Bucky admitted.

They stood there, leaning in the silence for a moment, both of them just…people._ You like him. _Bucky's mind pointed out. _No I don't. _Bucky pointed out in return. Liking people is for seventh graders and friendly citizens. Bucky Barnes was neither of those things. This was community service that happened to have perks. Bucky glanced over at Steve, taking note of his long blonde eyelashes and the curve of his cheekbones in a way he would swear was objective and analytical. He wondered how someone who got beat up so much could still look so…unbroken.

"BARNES!" Someone shouted from twenty yards away. Bucky cringed away from the window of the truck, half-turning and half-crouching as he peered through the rain-streaked glass pane of the truck to see who it was. And, as he had both expected and dreaded, there stood Mr. Ripley. The disciplinarian—six feet two inches of misplaced anger and disappointment—had it out for Bucky.

"Shit. Shit." Bucky shook his head, wincing and tucking away his lighter.

"What'd you do?" Steve whispered loudly, eyes wide with unfamiliar panic.

"I have no idea. I mean—I'm supposed to be in class—but that can't be surprising. Shit. I don't know." He glanced into the car's side mirror, catching the reflection of the man walking towards them, arms swinging at his sides like bags of rocks. "Run off, man. Run and hide, or that dude will not forget your face." He squeezed Steve's shoulder. "I'll make a diversion."

"I—are you sure?" Steve looked overwhelmed by concern.

"Yep. Solid. I'll see you around, Steve." He winked, leaping out from behind the truck and breaking into a sprint.

"BARNES! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!" Ripley's voice shouted itself hoarse as he chased after his least favorite delinquent, and behind a Toyota truck, Steve Rogers willed away several thoughts involving a boy in a leather jacket.

* * *

**A/N: "Steady as She Goes" by the Raconteurs / I'm sorry the chapters are so short right now, but this is just some Bucky exposition for everybody. Enjoy & please review, and thank you to those who have! - Michelle**


	3. Do I Wanna Know

Chapter 3

"Are there some aces up your sleeves?  
Have you no idea that you're in deep?  
I dreamt about you nearly every night this week,  
how many secrets can you keep?  
'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow,

_and I play it on repeat ."_

STEVE

* * *

After the entire incident with the school's favorite disciplinarian, Steve elected to lay low until Friday rolled around. It was bad enough the entire office knew Steve's name, he didn't need them to know that he had been caught with the infamous Bucky Barnes between a Toyota and a snubbed cigarette. The entire incident had half the school's population buzzing with rumors. Apparently someone's friend had seen them close between the cars, and it looked like sexual tension and then Bucky was running from the disciplinarian and Steve had look star struck for hours afterwards. It was a mess.

Steve didn't mind the rumors. Part of him enjoyed that most of them wrapped around the idea that him and Barnes were, well, going steady, for lack of a better term. It was strange, that someone like Bucky Barnes could ever be considered to be going out with someone like Steve Rogers.

Not like that'd ever happen, Steve reminded himself whenever someone asked.

"Of course, me and Barnes aren't dating. We just met, that's all." His heart would sink almost always. So far he's been asked at least seven times within the week. Most were waiting for Bucky to approach Steve again. To be honest, Steve was waiting as well. He promised that if Bucky hadn't talked to him by the end of seventh block, then Steve would confront him. It was eating at Steve, not knowing why Bucky wanted to get to know his name, even offered to protect him.

Steve didn't need protecting, but the thought was nice.

He found himself in art, distracted by his rambling thoughts, shifting in the chair and chewing on his pencil slightly. The current sketch wasn't turning out the way he'd hoped. It was frustrating, being distracted. All he seemed to want to draw were paths of smoke curling up towards the corners of the page. It had become increasingly hard to concentrate on different bends of a flower when all Steve could mull over was the thought of seeing Bucky again.

"Are you going to answer me?" The girl sitting across from Steve prodded, poking her pencil against his arm.

Steve blinked, jumping back into reality with about as much grace as a wheezing, star struck artist could manage, dropping his own pencil as he shoved off the thoughts of Bucky and his leather jacket and his stupid boots and his stupid cigarettes and his stupid smile—

"What'd you ask, again?"

"If you want to go out with Barnes? It's the big question right now. Everyone knows you're gay and, well, Barnes, That's a completely different story. After what happened this past week everyone's pretty sure that Barnes knows you're..." She trailed off, seeing Steve's cheeks flush. She grinned slightly, looking down at her own sketchbook momentarily.

"I find it hard to believe that what I do with my free time is anyone's business other than my own." Steve nearly stuttered, his eyebrows furrowing. He leaned forward to at least pretend he could concentrate on the petals of a rose. The idea of him and Bucky Barnes laying in bed together made him feel increasingly warm, and Steve Rogers did not want to be thinking about such things in the middle of school, in art class no less with a girl harassing him about his love life in front of him.

"Calm your tits, I was just asking—speak of the devil!"

Steve's head bolted up, looking at the doorway where now the baddest boy laid residence in its frame. Steve couldn't stop staring, his _eyes,_ the way he moved like a predator as if this school was his hunting grounds, the way his smirk held such contempt. Steve lost his voice, and his breath in one glance. He closed his mouth to avoid looking like a gaping fish.

He turned back to his drawing, hearing Barnes approach their small table. Steve swallowed hard, looking up and meeting those delicate eyes head on. They were layers of ice and snow and oceans meeting together and crashing. There was chaos surrounding his pupils and suddenly Steve found the strange urge to sketch them out, draw the layers and explore each one with graphite and ink. It sucked having horrible lungs because he felt his breath catching in his throat. He coughed slightly, sitting up straighter.

"Fancy meeting you here, Rogers." Bucky leaned against the wooden table, his face now even closer to Steve's. It took him a moment to compose himself, now being almost eye level with Bucky instead of looking up at him.

"Surprising, isn't it." Steve couldn't help but smile. Bucky's grin radiated pride and it infected Steve easily.

"Oh Bucky! You came to visit!" The girl Steve had been talking to previously cooed. "Are you skipping class again?"

Bucky elected to ignore the squealing girl, taking Steve's pencil and twirling it absently, looking at the eraser. "You chewed the end," He pointed out, tilting the end so that it faced Steve. He wagged it slightly, popping his gum.

"You smell like you just smoked half a pack," Steve countered, getting another grin from Bucky that made Steve's stomach feel like it was doing something inexplicably inappropriate.

"I had a few before coming in here," Bucky shrugged, snatching Steve's sketchbook with his still heart-stopping grin. "You didn't say you could draw," He mused while flipping through the pages. Steve's blush darkened considerably.

"You never asked."

He settled on a page that held rough sketching of Bucky himself leaning against a wall smoking. He raised an eyebrow, jaw gaping slightly.

"Whoa, Rogers, you drew me?" His lips turned back into that easy grin again, seeming a little prouder after seeing the drawing.

"I draw lots of people," He said almost defensively before finally nodding. It was hard to explain why exactly Steve drew him. It had been a few weeks ago. The light had hit him just right. It was perfect weather for drawing. Bucky had looked so captivating and inviting yet guarded and hard to explain. There were a million different reasons dancing in Steve's throat but none of them seemed right. "Yeah, I...I drew you. You have a lot of intricate workings and I wanted to capture that."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Bucky's grin widened slightly, handing back the beat down book. Steve laid it back on the table before Bucky caught him off guard with his next question. "Are you free tonight?"

"Free for what?" The girl behind Bucky chirped, but Bucky's steady gaze remained focused on Steve. He couldn't respond at first, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What she said…for what?"

"The usual, stuff, and possibly things. We could ditch this old place and you can tell me all the go to methods of being a bodyguard for Steve Rogers." He went back to twirling the pencil, raising a brow as he awaited an answer.

Steve paused for a moment, nodding quickly. "I'd...I'd like that, Bucky." He loved how Bucky had said his name. The way he said each syllable, it made Steve feel changed, alive again in just two words. He could feel his pulse going erratic. "But I've never skipped class before,"

"Don't worry, I'm a professional." Bucky gestured towards the door and Steve followed suit, nearly stumbling over the tile on his way out. In his haste, Steve left behind his bookbag and his sketchbook.

Thankfully, Bucky grabbed his stuff and followed in Steve's footsteps out to the car lot. He only looked back once when the girl shouted out after them.

"Have fun! Don't forget to use protection!"

* * *

**A/N: "Do I Wanna Know" by Arctic Monkeys.  
Thanks so much for the reviews, likes and follows, guys! It means a lot! I hope you continue to enjoy this fic. (Pssst if you aren't already following Michelle do it she's fantastic and the only reason I'm co-writing a fic!) Stay tuned ~Elizabeth**


	4. Club Foot

Chapter 4

"I tell you I want you  
I'll tell you I need you  
The blood ain't on my face  
Just wanted you near me."

* * *

BUCKY

The inside of Bucky's '72 Shelby Mustang smelled like smoke. The seats, steering wheel and every other surface you could run your hands over were all leather, fine and smooth and black as night. There was a cassette player, and, shockingly—_cassettes. _Bucky had introduced Steve to the car with a grandiose, expansive wave of his arms and an open invitation.

"Get in. We are going to…wherever." He said, climbing smoothly into the driver's seat.

"Wow. It's really nice." Steve said admiringly, glancing around the interior of the car as he diligently buckled his seatbelt.

"Thanks. Birthday present, you know?" He dug under his seat, hand clamping around a ratty cardboard box. He heaved it up, dropping it onto Steve's lap with an easy grin.

"Choose a tape." He suggested, twisting his key in the ignition. The car roared awake, the sweet, rough hum vibrating the seats beneath them. Bucky cast another sideways glance at Steve, glancing over his long eyelashes and fair hair. The kid looked like an angel from a painting, all perfect skin and blue eyes. He prodded through the box of tapes, trying to hold all of them upright as he poked through.

"What's Motorhead?" Steve asked, brow furrowing. Bucky arched an eyebrow suspiciously, pulling his eyes from the road ahead to look at Steve.

"You screwing with me?" He asked. Steve shook his head, looking as innocent as only, well, an innocent person could.

"Never heard of it." He said with a shrug.

"Not _it, _dummy. _Them._" He grabbed Steve's hand, his eyes back on the road as he aimed the cassette towards the slot. Steve's face flushed a light pink, much to Bucky's smug satisfaction.

He wouldn't pretend that Steve didn't make him feel that way. Hey, it wasn't something Bucky'd admit publicly, but he had feelings. Steve was a good boy—cut, shaved, and a goddamn flower child. He had those giant endless eyes and high cheekbones…and cocky as it was, Bucky adored sending those shivers up Steve's spine. He could tell when it happened. Flushed face and averted eyes, Steve was easy to play and Bucky was eager to practice. Bucky grinned at him out the corner of his eye as Steve fumbled with the tape player. Whatever he'd pressed, the music cut on _loudly. _Heavy guitar startled Steve so that he nearly dropped the box—it wasn't the music he normally listened to. Bucky rapped his knuckles against the wheel along to the music as he spun it recklessly to cut across the road, making a u-turn that Steve was almost sure was illegal.

Steve clutched at the door, at the seat, and—amusingly—at Bucky's thigh. If it was possible, Steve's face grew even redder. He jerked his hand away like he'd touched fire, and Bucky could barely conceal his grin.

"Calm down, cowboy. We're fine." He cackled, steadying the wheel as they raced down the highway. Steve fumbled in his pocket for his inhaler, pulling it to his mouth and inhaling the way Bucky did on his cigarettes. Guilt crept through Bucky like a familiar friend, and he eased his foot on the pedal. Steve was hiding his red face as he tucked his inhaler back into his pocket. Bucky laid his hand out, palm up on Steve's thigh.

Steve looked at the hand through his lashes momentarily, trying to decipher the risks of taking it and the achievement of being able to say 'Yes, I held Bucky Barnes's hand after having an asthma attack in his cool car while listening to something called Motorhead.' It took a moment and a little bit of lip chewing before Steve interlaced his own hand through Bucky's fingers. His hand felt unbearably bony compared to Bucky's.

"You said it was a birthday present, right?" He kept his eyes on the road, knowing too well that his cheeks were burning.

Bucky relaxed into his perpetually triumphant state, tightening his fingers around Steve's hot hand. He tapped his driving hand's fingers against the steering wheel, gazing out the windshield as they turned around another corner.

"Yep. My seventeenth. Three months ago." Bucky felt something sneak up on him; it was the hope, for some reason, that Steve was younger than him. He didn't know where it'd come from.

Steve looked away momentarily. His already faltering heart tottered between unsteady rhythms. He could feel each beat against his ribs as he took in another deep breath.

"I just turned Sixteen a few months ago, I inherited my mother's old buggy. It...it works, I guess. Is there anything else I should know about my bodyguard? Bucky Barnes, seventeen, reckless driver, class skipper extraordinaire, compulsive smoker. What am I missing?" Steve smiled slightly, looking back at Bucky.

Bucky felt a shy sigh of relief inside him, and ran his thumb over Steve's to gauge his reaction.

"Well, I'm obviously a world class poet." He deadpanned. "Also, I'm really good at bowling." He grinned, throwing a glance at Steve while the car paused at a red light. "What about you, Steve Rogers? Golden boy, honors student, punching bag of the varsity baseball team. What are you all about?" There was a practiced flippancy to Bucky's voice, but the hard edge was nowhere to be found.

Steve's cheeks nearly seemed to glow with intensity of his blush. His hand tightened around Bucky's without even realizing it. Part of him wanted to pull away from the foreign contact and the idea that this could be real. The other part was waiting for the part where Bucky dumped him at a parking lot and told him to take a hike.

"Bowling? N-never…would have pegged you," He wanted to reach and take another hit from his inhaler. He could feel his throat tightening up, but he had to remind himself that it was only nerves. He closed his eyes, swallowing, before answering Bucky's question. He would never admit to how faintly the punching bag part stung. To be honest his nose still throbbed.

"I read a lot, and I...like to draw, but you already saw that. I went to an art school my freshman year before I had to transfer because," He looked out his side window again, not wanting to see Bucky's smile for his next words. "Because of the hospital here, it's a lot better than the old one. Do you have any pets?" He tried miserably to change the subject.

In the ten seconds it took the light to glimmer green, Bucky didn't pull his eyes from Steve's face. A dead weight hung in his stomach when it occurred to him that his calloused words had hurt Steve. It was some kind of alien instinct—he didn't like the feeling of doing anything to upset Steve.

"I always wanted a dog." He offered. "But my mom's allergic. I have an iguana." He grinned, lopsided and bright with the hope that Steve would do the same. "What about you?"

Steve couldn't help himself, he began to chuckle. It was the sort of rare occurrence for him that he almost instinctively turned to face Bucky more. "I, I had a pet turtle for a few years." Seeing Bucky's grin made Steve smile in a way that lit up his whole face, as if before the moment Steve had barely been alive and now he was actually truly living.

He straightened his back slightly, running his free hand through his hair. It destroyed the perfectly combed look easily but it didn't look bad after Steve softly shook it out. "Your Iguana have a name?"

"Ziggy." Bucky said proudly. "As in Stardust."

The car rolled to a stop on the edge of what he'd liked to have called a cliff. It was more of a ravine, steep and red with clay. There was water below, and it glimmered under the drowsy sunlight.

"C'mon. I have beers in the trunk." Bucky squeezed Steve's hand tightly before climbing out of the car.

"Beer?" Steve nearly choked out. He sat in the leather seat, stunned momentarily. He not only held hands with Bucky Barnes and discussed in detail his pet iguana, but now they were about to drink and watch the sunset on a cliff. If it didn't almost always nick a vein, Rogers was almost positive he should pinch himself.

He wasn't about to admit that he'd never taken a sip of beer, let alone shared a few with a drinking legend. He got out the car, closing the door carefully and looking back towards the trunk. For a moment, Steve turned to gaze at the breathtaking view.

Bucky grinned.

"Only if you want one, I wouldn't wanna peer pressure you into it or anything." He hoisted the ice chest out of his trunk after glancing around to ensure that they were well and truly alone. With ease, he set it just behind the trunk, opening it up to reveal a surprising quantity of alcohol. The beers were submerged in ice, and Bucky shook two loose, holding one out to Steve as he climbed onto the back of the car.

"I'm sure you've never peer pressured anybody into doing anything, Mr. Bucky Barnes." He took the beer awkwardly climbing onto the car with him.

He tried struggling with the cap at first before offering it back to Bucky to open. "How do you get away with stashing copious amounts of illegal alcohol in your truck while on school grounds? I'm curious in case I ever need to stash away illegal beverages during second block."

Bucky snorted, a hand falling flat on his chest in a dramatic gesture.

"Steve Rogers, drinking at school?" He imitated a faint. "Nobody's allowed to search cars 'cept police. And they aren't gonna get me, they know me." He shrugged easily, handing back Steve's beer and raising his bottle in an offer.

Steve clinked the cold glass against his, unable to stop himself from smiling slightly. "You never know, Barnes. I could be running an entire secret drug organization in my backseat." He took his first real sip of alcohol and winced at the taste.

His face remained as such for a moment before taking another large sip.

"I would be mightily impressed, Rogers." Bucky tucked his legs beneath him, half-draining the bottle in one go as he pretended not to notice Steve's distaste.

Steve finished his beer slowly, still trying to get used to the faint burn and the overall displeasured taste of it. It never dawned on him truly why everyone seemed to make such a big deal out of it till he near finished his first bottle. The flavor, he had gotten used to by this point, and he fully realized that Bucky did in fact have a great taste in beer selections.

He gently reached down, setting the bottle carefully on the ground, looking back at Bucky with a grin. "I'd be glad to impress you, Barnes." He said softly, reaching for another beer.

Bucky thought something to himself about how Rogers was more impressive than he thought. He'd have liked to tell him, but it seemed like too much. Bucky Barnes stared at the magenta clouds, emptying his beer bottle and grabbing another.

"Say, what d'you think your alcohol tolerance is, huh, Steve?" He grinned mischievously, trying his hand at mental calculations. The only result he could settle on with any confidence was, _he'll be more drunk than I am._

Steve shrugged, struggling valiantly again to open the bottle on his own before relinquishing it to Bucky. "I wouldn't know," His thoughts were already getting sort of clouded. Things looked more pleasant and soft. He moved closer to Barnes, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and leaning back, looking at the clouds. "What is yours?"

Bucky felt warmth tingling through his fingers as he drained his second bottle, slipping an arm under Steve's waist. He wondered where Steve's courage came from. Some part of him guessed it wasn't the alcohol. He was admirable, Bucky thought to himself. It's brave to live any life, but Steve...he was living extra hard.

"We'll find out." He murmured, leaning back against the windshield.

Steve's blush darkened slightly and he sat up, looking at Bucky. Through the honest to god vision of a first time drunk, Steve saw Bucky's features on a new level of focus. It was a realm where it was more emotion than vision.

"You, what is your end goal? Normally, anyone I've ever remotely became friends with would have kicked me to the curb after taking my clothes and drove off. You haven't. I keep waiting for you to start laughing at me and here you are letting me get drunk and lay with you watching a sunset like we're in some movie and I've always thought you were hot and I really, really _like_ you, Bucky Barnes, and I—" He had to catch his breath momentarily, his lungs not quite up to speed with his rambling mouth. "Tell me this isn't one sided—"

Bucky kissed him. He was rougher than he meant to be, and his hands were nowhere to be found, but he couldn't let Steve keep talking. Bucky remembered his method and clumsily pulled up his hands to cradle the sides of Steve's face. His lips were warm, and felt comfortable pressed there. He pulled away after a moment, trying to register Steve's reaction.

Steve sucked in a breath of shock. First, it was him spilling his concerns, and next it was warmth and the intoxicating smell of hops and remnants of smoke that smelled more like a dying flame than it would ever taste like tobacco. Then his hands were cradling his face, and Steve found his hands gripping Bucky's shirt momentarily.

He didn't hesitate to complete the kiss again, though his heart pounded and throbbed nearly painfully and his lungs strained and his back vaguely ached. He wished there was an appropriate response to getting shut up by a kiss. He was more thankful than anything that it had been Bucky's response.

Bucky felt hands around his shirt, and relaxed to lean his forehead against Steve's. _The butterflies are not real._

* * *

**A/N: "Club Foot" by Kasabian. We're very proud of this chapter—the second half was written sort of as an RP. We hope you like it, thank you very much for your reviews and everything! We really love you guys! - Michelle**


	5. Piledriver Waltz

CHAPTER 5

"_You look like you've been for breakfast at the Heartbreak Hotel,_

_sat in the back booth with the pamphlets and the_

_literature on how to lose_

_your waitress was miserable,_

_and so was your food._

_If you're gonna try and walk on water,_

_Make sure you wear your comfortable shoes."_

* * *

The bike wasn't much. It was a rust bucket, falling apart, fading blue paint that was chipped at all the edges. It puttered around, and yet Steve was oddly proud of it. It was -his- first motorized contraption that was entirely his own. Of course it was nothing compared to Bucky's sleek panther-esque car but Steve was nonetheless proud. He bought it himself. He even scratched a star right above the flickering light.

Him and his death trap shuddered to a stop in front of the town's only diner. Neon lights blinked wearily blinked at Steve, greeting him to his first official 'date' with James Barnes. At first he wasn't extremely impressed by the peeling white paint and the entire cheesy facade of the makeshift 60's dive, but after gazing at it for a while Steve found it very suiting to Bucky's attitude. He was more Greaser than Gangster anyhow and there wasn't much to lose anyways.

A few minutes passed and suddenly an overwhelming fear washed over Steve, the faint blonde hairs on his neck pricked. What if Bucky asked him here to never show up. Leave him waiting in the parking lot to drive by and laugh. It was stupid, senseless but Steve couldn't help that growing doubt. He rubbed his arms, trying his best to swallow the anxiety while waiting.

2 minutes or so away, Bucky glared at every parking space. Too small, too sketchy, too surrounded by minivans.

"Steve's waiting, asshole, just pick one." He muttered.  
Steve paced by the door, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. He finally chose to lean against the glass by the door. For the fourteenth time that evening he looked down and fixed his shirt. It was a cream button up with an open dark gray vest. His jeans were too big for him, holding on only by Steve's belt. His anxiety turned the corners of his ears red as he relived the inevitable scene of Bucky not even showing up.

His lip chewing continued.

Bucky pushed through the glass door, the bell dinging loudly at him. He smelled like smoke and cologne, his long hair messy and his blue eyes apologetic.

Steve jumped when the bell rang, turning to stare at Bucky. He didn't even realize he had been holding his breath, but seeing Bucky standing before him disheveled and apologetic was enough to get a sigh of relief. The red from his ears crept onto his cheeks but he couldn't help but smile. "Hello there, Bucks. Interesting place you chose."

Bucky's face split into a relieved and easy grin, realizing Steve wasn't mad. "It's cheesy as hell, isn't it? Thought you'd like it."

"I swear it's like you read my diary," He said, rolling his eyes. "You think that jukebox in the corner still works?"

Their banter was interrupted by a very pretty waitress that held two menus.

"May I offer you two fine boys a booth or a place at the counter?" She smiled sweetly.

Bucky threw an arm around Steve. "Booth, please." He grinned as she led them over, sliding in across from Steve to step on his feet.

Steve's blush grew considerably when Bucky's arm found it's way around his neck.

Feeling Bucky's feet, he kicked him underneath the table playfully, turning to listen to the waitress tell them specials.

"You two must try our famous two blend milkshake. They are to die for." She rattled on.  
Bucky nodded along politely, waiting until Steve ordered and simply asking for the same.  
Steve ordered a milkshake, a strange combination of vanilla and cookies 'n' cream. He flipped through the menu quickly, finally settling on a small order if fries that he could pick at.

The waitress waltzed off to the kitchen, leaving them both alone again at the booth.

"Romantic, huh?" Bucky asked.

"Very," Steve mused. "It must be all the neon stripes." He fidgeted with his vest momentarily, grinning slightly back at Bucky.

He could smell Bucky's faint cologne from across the table, and for a minute he tried to place the brand but found himself unable.

Bucky felt comfortable in the silence, proud just to be able to look over Steve. All blonde and pale and sweet looking. Bucky locked his eyes in a confident gaze.

Steve quickly noticed Bucky's confident stare and as if on cue the red of embarrassment crept over his skin in patches almost all over.

"How many people at school know that you're..." He trailed off, chewing on his lip mid thought before finally gesturing towards him. "...Out?" His voice dropped a level, looking down at his hands.

Bucky's head tilted slightly to the side. "I don't know. Most of them, I assume. I know they talk...but I have a nice car and my own schedule and nobody ever brings it up in a negative light." He said gently.

Steve's smile returned, having been momentarily afraid that he wasn't putting Bucky at risk. "Lucky you, sometimes it seems like anyone can ever talk to me about is me being that way."

The waitress brought over the shakes and the fries. Steve smiled in thanks.

"Because you don't wear it, Steve. You gotta brag about it, you make it part of your skin. They can't hurt you with it if you're proud." He kicked his legs up to place his feet on either side of Steve.

Steve sighed, shrugging. "I don't know how to wear it. Should I convert to rainbow flags for clothing?" He stole Bucky's cherry easily, popping it into his mouth. "I just don't feel proud, I guess."

Bucky laughed softly, reaching over to steal a fry. "Fake it 'til you make it, baby." He gave a slight, resigned smile.

"That'll become my new motto." He tossed a French fry towards Bucky, grinning again as he did so.

"Why don't you go try the jukebox? See if there's anything good?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "That a challenge?" He asked, climbing out of the booth and sauntering over to find the song that would embarrass Steve most.

Steve chuckled. "Of course it's a challenge, jerk!" He called after, sitting with his legs crossed.

Steve wouldn't ever admit to it but he kept a curious gaze on Bucky's ass, satisfied by how it filled out his dark jeans. Before long Steve found himself blushing again.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, gauging Steve's blush and embarrassment. Bucky leaned over the jukebox like a gold digger, back arched surreptitiously. He selected Elvis—"You Ain't Nothin' But A Hound Dog".

Steve was feeling light headed, seeing Bucky like that. He clutched the table, his nails digging into the wood more after hearing the song choice. He turned away, taking a deep breath from his inhaler as he looked out the window where rain streaked down the glass.

Bucky grinned mischievously, sneaking up behind Steve to snake his arms over his shoulders.

Steve gasped and laughed slightly, feeling suddenly brave. He leaned against Bucky slightly and kissed his cheek. "You evil, evil man. You did that on purpose."  
Pleased by Steve's step forward, Bucky caught Steve's lips and grinned, biting his lower lip gently.

"Obviously."

Steve gasped again, returning the kiss fervently before chuckling slightly as Bucky caught his lower lip.

"Lucky for me that I promised long ago to never dance to Elvis."

"Lucky for me, I'm very persuasive." Bucky slipped an arm around his waist.

"I think that ties back to that conversation where you told me you never peer pressured anyone—oh, God." His blush remained a constant again. "I am _not_ dancing, Bucky Barnes. I have two left feet." One of his hands found Bucky's shirt and twisted it, keeping himself planted in his seat.

"I have two right feet!" Bucky exclaimed sneakily, arms lacing around Steve's waist to haul him up.

Steve gave up trying to fight him, chuckling he allowed himself to get pulled to the small make shift dance floor. "I find it hard to believe that you could be any less graceful."

"It's not about grace, babe, it's about style." He grinned, hands finding Steve's ass.  
Steve nearly squeaked, both hands suddenly gripping Bucky's shirt with intense fervor. "Something you seem to have lots of." he coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment by tilting his hand down.

Bucky grinned almost more than he had been, the warm light spreading through him as he angled his lips toward Steve's ear. "Damn right I do."

Steve, feeling over matched by Bucky's words and demeanor, turned to catch his mouth with his own, this time biting Bucky's lower lip before pulling away, acting as if nothing had happened. "Mind if I steal some?"

"Not in public." He said. Steve grinned, pressing himself closer against Bucky, taking in the deep smell of smoke.

* * *

Bucky eyed Steve's bike. "You're not riding that home. You'll die. Put it in the trunk."

Steve wanted to put up an argument but found no valid point for his side. It was wet. The roads were slick and Steve was bound to get hit by a drunk driver. So he listened, though a bit apprehensively. He lifted the light frame into Bucky's trunk without complaint, turning back to look at him. "You have any other plans for tonight since a walk in the park is out?"

"Is it?" He asked. "Rain is nice. Cheesy and romantic. Get in." He grinned, pushing Steve towards the passenger door.

"Tonight's all about cheesy," he stumbled into the car, sitting back with a slight smile. His blonde hair turned darker when damped with rain. It clung to his skin as he traced a drop as it raced down the window.

Bucky slid into the driver seat, shaking his wet hair like a dog. He slicked it back with a free hand as he started the car.

Steve shivered slightly, turning the air vents away from him. The cold water seemed to suck the heat right out of him. He glanced at Bucky, before deciding to become distracted by the rain again. His thin arms wrapped around his chest.

Bucky fumbled absently with the heater, his mind immediately focusing on Steve's shivering.

Steve didn't mind his shivering too much, though the heater was of no use since his clothes were soaked, pressed against his skin. His shirt was practically see-through.

"Don't worry about it, Bucks. I'll be fine. Let's just go to your house and warm up till the storm calms down."

Bucky nodded. His father was long gone—mother working nights, much like Steve's. The car changed direction.

Steve brought his knees up to his chest, moving to lean his head against Bucky's shoulder. Bucky leaned his cheek against Steve's head as they pulled into his driveway.

Steve's shivers were still a constant as he climbed out Bucky's car and dashed to the door. His breathing slightly labored as he stood underneath the shelter waiting for Bucks.

Bucky walked up behind him, shivering slightly as he stuffed the key into the door.  
Steve followed Bucky into the home, pulling his shirt away from his skin to keep it from sticking.

"I like your place," he murmured.

Bucky smiled, embarrassed. It was all disheveled, blankets and magazines everywhere. Empty bottles on tables and an ashtray on the coffee table.

"My room's back here." He said, pointing Steve towards it. "I'll get towels."

Steve made his way through the house, disappearing into Bucky's room. Without a second thought he took off his shoes and sat on Bucky's bed, looking around at all the band posters and empty cigarette cartons.

Bucky nudged the door open with his toe, arms full of soft towels. He dumped two onto Steve's lap, collapsing beside him. He peeled off his wet shirt, rubbing the towel over his soaked hair.

Steve quickly did the same, forgetting momentarily that he was with Barnes as he unbuttoned his shirt and hung it up. He draped the towel around his shoulders, using the other to mop off the water still on his skin.

He turned back to Bucky and sucked in a breath, surprised to see him without a shirt. His blush reached across his cheeks and down his neck, branching onto his chest where one could count almost every rib.

Bucky was hot underneath that leather jacket. No wonder he had no problem being proud.

Bucky felt an innate rush of pleasure from Steve's shock, and even more from the full body blush overcoming him.

Bucky pulled off his clothes, dropping backwards onto the bed while he hummed to himself and dried his hair.

Steve did his best to not look, his breathing straining slightly. Finally he closed his eyes so he wasn't tempted to look.

Bucky was not so courteous. Just above Steve's bones was a layer of hard muscle. It wasn't obvious to someone who wasn't looking...but Bucky was certainly looking.

The muscle in question shifted as Steve did, moving to finish drying out his hair. He was still slightly shivering, even in the warmth. The cold had taken a residence in Steve's bones and he couldn't quite shake it, even with Bucky laying beside him stark and staring keeping at least his blush going.

Bucky rolled on his side, propping himself up on an elbow. "You still cold?"

Steve nodded, finally looking at Bucky. "'S normal. I'm prone to getting colds after being in the rain." He had to force himself not to stutter.

Bucky felt a slight tingling in his stomach as he rolled over, wrapping an arm over Steve and pulling him close.

Steve gasped at the sudden contact. Bucky's touch was almost fire against his skin and suddenly it was everywhere. He shivered into him, having before barely touched Bucky and now suddenly feeling every muscle against his back.

Bucky breathed out a sigh, feeling every sensitivity of Steve's icy skin, his pronounced vertebrae against Bucky's warm stomach.

Steve felt almost engulfed by him, safe but unfamiliar. He could feel Bucky's chest expand and contract with every breath. He used Bucky's arm as a pillow, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

Bucky kissed Steve's shoulder, his arm draped over him comfortably.

Steve tensed slightly; feeling Bucky's lips against his skin was something new entirely. The unease passed quickly and Steve found he enjoyed Bucky's lips against him, but he was even more frightened of where this was leading.

Bucky bit Steve's ear, smiling against him, unaware of his concern.

Steve gasped slightly, pressing his back further against Bucky. One hand tightened slightly in the sheets. Steve could feel his pulse, frantic and confused in his ears. He closed his eyes, another shiver causing him to bring his knees closer to his chest.  
Bucky allowed himself the joy of pressing fully against Steve, where he hasn't before. He kissed the side of his neck, close to the rushing blood of his artery.

Steve gasped, startled into now sitting up. Anxiety crept through every ounce of his figure, erasing the warmth and the cold alike. He reached for his inhaler, wrapping the towel around himself tightly to hide his growing discomfort.

Bucky pulled back, hand gently resting on Steve's shoulder. "What's wrong?" He half whispered.

"I'm—I'm," he had to take a deep breath with his inhaler, waiting for his breathing to calm down. "Never done this before," he finally admitted, shame washing over him in blotches of red.

Bucky sat up with a half smile, his hand squeezing Steve's shoulder.

"You embarrassed?" He asked.

Steve bit his lip, debating the right words to say. Finally he nodded.

"S'not funny,"

Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

"I wouldn't laugh. Wanna know something?"

Steve looked at him through blonde hair that fell in front of his eyes.

"What? Tell me," he couldn't help but smiling softly.

"I'm glad. I don't think anybody deserves to have been with you like that." He said firmly.  
Steve's blush darkened considerably.

"Would you have thought any less of me?"

"Would I have any right?" Bucky asked honestly.

Steve chewed on his lip slightly and kissed him instead of responding at first.  
Bucky kissed him back, hands brushing away Steve's wet hair.

"I—I don't want to do it tonight, Bucks. I want to, but not tonight." Steve whispered, pressing his forehead against Bucky's.

"We'll wait as long as you want. S'enough just having you here, you punk."

"You better mean that, Jerk." Steve chuckled.

* * *

Steve was still frighteningly flustered after the past two week's events, especially the most recent night. He could still feel Bucky's careful touch tracing each bone in his back, waking up and realizing he had fallen asleep in Bucky's grasp. It was overwhelming. Places where he touched where still radiantly warm.

Not only did he have fuzzy memories of the first kiss, but also very clear memories of all the most recent trails that his lips had formed. Now most of the rumors had faded with the sheer presence of Bucky Barnes himself there to dispel them. Steve was still too frazzled to at first realize Bucky's apparent absence from the school halls. Unease started to spread like an unwelcome friend.

There was one rule of spreading rumors about Bucky Barnes. It was that you didn't spread rumors about Bucky Barnes in front of him. He was a love child of disciplinary action and relenting law forces. Anything you could say about him was most likely true, as long as you didn't say it to his face.

No one actually knew what would happen if someone explained in detail to Bucky what everyone said about him. No one dared, especially not Steve, who currently at the moment was as clueless about them as Bucky was.

Steve was sheltered from the rumors as long as Bucky was there, but the problem today was that Bucky -wasn't- there. It left Steve feeling antsy and ungodly exposed as time continued to pass. Two weeks had been such a long time to suddenly be stripped of the privilege.

He was trying to get books out of his locker without knocking over another series of old sketchbooks. It was quite a challenge proving worthy for the 5'4 bundle of bones and heart palpitations.

It startled Steve, upon closing his locker to see the girl from art leaning against the locker instead of Bucky. When Steve jumped, nearly dropping the books the girl began to giggle. "So where's your boyfriend, Steve?" She crooned, helping him with some of his books.

"I dunno, probably at home sick. He wasn't feeling too well last night." Steve shrugged, keeping his eyes in front of him. He wasn't about to go into detail on why Bucky might not have been feeling well.

"Is that so? Doesn't he normally skip class around this time anyways?" She pressed, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

He only shrugged, chewing on his lower lip. "He's gotten better at being here. I've been helping him with a few subjects."

"Oh like _chemistry_? I don't think this is gonna last though, Steve. I mean normally he waits at least three weeks before dumping a guy and moving on and if he's already forgetting you this far in, well I don't think it's going to go over very well."

Steve's cheeks flared red slightly and he stuck his head higher.

"Weren't you the one begging for us to get together in the first place?" His voice had a sharp edge that he hadn't meant to add. Almost instantly he felt guilty for being rude.

"I just like the thought of his hot ass in general, it doesn't matter who he's dating. As far as I'm concerned you're just boy number 15. He goes through them like he goes through cigarettes. Let's face it Steve. You're dying news." Her cheery attitude only seemed to make Steve's day darken in comparison.

"I still say he's actually sick," Steve sighed, stopping in front of his class.

"And I say twenty bucks he's out in the parking lot smoking his heart out, up it to fifty if he's out there with a guy. Bet he gave some guy on the baseball team oral beforehand, that's how he got his reputation in the first place." She handed Steve his books back and grinned. "See you later, Steve boy! Have fun with your boyfriend!"

* * *

After faking an asthma attack—something Steve had gotten surprisingly good at the past few days—he found himself half jogging, half wheezing into the parking lot, looking for Bucky's familiar black car. He was out of breath and shaken up when he finally spotted it.

Walking away from the black car was another student, a stupid grin plastered on his face. He looked back and half waved to the figure in Bucky's car.

Steve could only stare for a long moment, letting it sink in. He knew that student, Carlson Richards. He was closeted due to underlying affects of being a gay athlete. He tried to hook up with Steve once a long time ago.

In his hand was a half finished cigarette. Steve could tell from there even with his bad vision that it was Bucky's brand.

Steve couldn't breathe. He didn't want to connect the dots. He didn't want to assume that Bucky had been in the parking lot with Carlson when he'd have normally met Steve for lunch, not after the night before. Not after Bucky _promised. _Bucky wasn't about to leave Steve just because he wouldn't have sex with him, it couldn't end like this.

That Bucky would rather have smoked and blew a guy than chat with Steve—it had been the ending Steve had been waiting for between the lines. It was where the handsome guy gets another handsome guy and they live happily ever after because Steve could only have ever been the dorky sidekick anyways and that never amounted to much off stage.

It had been a fool's dream to think that Steve deserved someone like James 'Bucky' Barnes in the first place. A dream that Steve no longer wanted to live.

He went home, instead. Among the superhero comics and the organized movies and his breathing machine for when he slept Steve found himself surrounded by crumpled sketches. He had been so stupid, drawing those, pretending him and Bucky could have been happier for longer. But he had to face the truth.

Nobody wanted to be associated with a boy like Steve Rogers.

* * *

A/N: "Piledriver Waltz" – Arctic Monkeys. / DON'T SHOOT THE MESSENGER. Everything painful is Elizabeth's fault. Yell at her -Michelle


	6. Masterpiece Theatre II

CHAPTER 6

_First it comes alive, creeping quiet.  
And this is just a part I portray.  
You're beautiful, can I hide in you,  
And stay here all night?_

_Well, oh I will pull away._  
_I portray._

_I'll wreck this if I have to,_  
_Tell me, what good would that do?_

* * *

Steve's house was mostly dark. His mother was still at work—her hours were long and normally she didn't return till well into the morning. Steve didn't mind this particular night, though all around him, the air felt like it was crashing down.

He had built this hope on Bucky, and to suddenly be in the swarm of rumors, of stories upon stories…it felt like it was drowning Steve. The idea that Bucky could ever want anything more than Steve. It was stupid. It was a child's fairytale. He just wanted a friend, someone he could call his own and someone he didn't have to hide from.

Steve had been so lovestruck by the idea of Bucky not raising fists towards him he had been backhanded by something a lot greater.

His phone was off, thrown on the messy bed. It took him a while to realize that someone had been knocking on the door fervently.

Bucky stood outside, jacket pulled tight as he rapped his knuckles raw on the splintered wood of Steve's weak front door.

"Where are you, punk?" He called through the door.

It took Steve a moment to compose himself to answer the door. A few gulps of breath and a few desperate wipes at his eyes he finally turned the knob of the rickety door and stared at Bucky.

For the first time Steve didn't look freshly cleaned and golden boy-esque. His hair was a mess, his shirt half unbuttoned, his pants, normally pressed, were disorganized plaid pajamas.

"What'dya want, jerk?" His words were quiet and of all things he looked like he was about to start crying again.

The exact level of Steve's dishevelment hit Bucky like a ton of bricks. His blue eyes widened in surprise, his lips parted as he wondered exactly how concerned he should be.

"Are you...okay?" He asked weakly.

"Am I..okay? Jeeze, Bucks. I didn't know you cared." Though his words should have been dripping with sarcasm, Steve couldn't muster enough energy to be flat out mean to Bucky.

Bucky jerked back, startled. He felt like he'd been slapped. The anger in Steve's eyes was harsh steel, no more of the salty sea that Bucky had gotten so fond of.

"What? Of course I care! That's all I've been doing for, like, three weeks!" His voice wavered in his confusion.

"You cared about the other fourteen too! And I bet you really cared about all of them until you stopped. I'd have rather you left me on the curb naked, Bucks. I wish you didn't drag it on like this. I know now how it was going to end anyways." He tried to blink away the tears, he tried to steel himself, standing more like a soldier than a struggling teenage youth. He couldn't help it. A few tears spilled over and he wiped at his cheeks, angry at himself for doing so.

Bucky felt his stomach weighing down, down-until it dropped to the ground. Steve's heartbroken face, his tearing eyes, they made Bucky want to reach out.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Steve! Please, if we could-I just-" He felt exasperated, exhausted already. He felt terrified.

"If we could just what? What are you trying to say? Just get past this? Get past the fact that you'd rather smoke out in the parking lot than spend a few minutes with me. Get past the fact that you were probably getting your...your dick sucked, and that I was hoping it wouldn't end, but it's seeming like it is?" Steve's voice quivered and he took a step back.

Bucky raised his hands defensively, brow furrowing in damn-near horror as he flinched away from the accusations.

"That didn't happen, Steve! None of that happened! You _know_ how much I care about you! That's bullshit!" His hands trembled.

"Because Carlson winking at me while walking away from your car isn't suspicious at all! I waited, and I waited! I skipped lunch waiting! Everyone thinks you don't actually even like me and you'd be so much better with someone else anyways," Steve's lower lip quivered as well as he forced himself to take a deep breath, fishing for his inhaler.

"Steve! Jesus Christ, Steve." Bucky wanted to grab him and shake, but the fear he'd break him overcame his desire. "That kid is a fucking idiot. I was smoking in my car, he came over and asked me to do—something—I don't know, I told him to fuck off, Steve." Bucky's voice was desperate, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"No, no get out, get out Bucks," Steve was full out crying now, wheezing fumbling with his inhaler and dropping it. He bent down to pick it up but just stayed on his knees.

Bucky dropped to his own in front of Steve's, allowing himself to grab Steve's shoulders gently.

"I wouldn't _do_ that to you, Steve." His voice trembled in a desperate whisper as he searched Steve's eyes earnestly. Tears stung at his own.

Steve looked away, flinching out of Bucky's grasp. "D-don't touch me. Leave. Please,"

A tear rolled off Bucky's lashes. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Rogers."

Steve stood up, backing away from Bucky.

"Get out or I'm... I'm gonna call the cops or something. Christ, Bucky, don't make this harder than it is."

"No you're not, Steve." Bucky said softly. He sat back on his heels with sad eyes.

"This is hard enough, Barnes. Why do you have to make it harder?" He wheezed, clutching his chest.

"I'm trying to make it right, Steve. If you won't listen, I won't talk. But I'm not letting you go." He said it with a sad finality.

"Make what right? The fact that I'm dying and I feel like your pity case, gosh dang, I feel like everyone's pity case and the only time I didn't was when you kissed me, but now it doesn't matter. You were going to learn to live without me anyways."

Bucky's fist flew into the wall, bones cracking painfully underneath his skin. He fell to the ground dejectedly where he laid his head in his hands.

"I'm not giving up on you, Rogers. I know you think there's nothing left to give up on. I disagree." His voice was low and rough as tears rolled slowly down his cheeks.

Steve knelt before him, running his hands through his hair, though they were shaking and unsteady.

"Bucky, don't do this, please."

Bucky glanced up into Steve's eyes, hoping to see some semblance of affection. In his desperation, he stared unblinkingly.

"I'm just doing what I have to."

Steve kissed Bucky then, desperate and upset and shaking, his entire frame was shaking.  
Bucky kissed him back, clinging fiercely to Steve's tiny frame as well he could. He kissed him desperately, hoping that the truth of his innocence might slip between their close hearts.

Steve kissed Bucky until he couldn't breathe, sobs wrecking his frame and unable to stop his tears he rested his head on Bucky's shoulder. He knew Buck was innocent but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because Steve was going to die and Bucky was killing himself.  
Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve Rogers, holding him as closely as he could so as not to leave any space. _Like barbed wire, _ he thought. Wrapped around him tight as a vice. He squeezed Steve hopelessly.  
Steve wanted to find words to tell him, to get him to leave, to save the suffering that was bound to come. He kissed Bucky's neck, falling into more tears.

It took him a moment to hear the soft clicking of high heels up to the front door. Steve looked up blearily, not realizing how much time had passed.

Steve struggled to get to his feet, pulling Bucky with him.

"Go, get in my room. Now," he whispered, shoving him slightly.

Eyes wide, Bucky obeyed. He wandered through the house to where he collapsed on Steve's small bed. Steve talked to his mother for a while. There was a lot of tapping high heels and a lot of "y'mam" and "n'mam," and a lot of worried banter.

Finally, Steve emerged back into his room. His crumpled sketches were everywhere. He climbed into bed on top of Bucky, pressing his forehead against his stomach, having kept composed enough outside to let out a shaky breath.

Bucky said nothing for some time, hands laced in Steve's hair as his breathing evened out. "What'd she say?" He whispered.

"She asked me what happened. I told her I was sick. She hugged me and told me to go to sleep. And here we are." his voice was soft, barely audible against Bucky's shirt.

"Here we are." Bucky whispered back.

* * *

**A/N: "Masterpiece Theatre II" by Marianas Trench. / Wow. That took too long, and my apologies, that's totally on me. I kept…not editing it. Oops. (Love you though.) -Michelle**


	7. Anything For You

**CHAPTER 7**

"**I've gotten drunk and shot the breeze with kings of far off lands,  
They showed me wealth as far as I could see.  
But their kingdoms seemed all shrivelly, and they cried with jealousy  
When I leaned in and told them about you."**

Something was buzzing near Steve's head. It was obnoxiously repeating, until finally Steve lifted himself up to grab the buzzing phone. With one swift swipe he turned it off and dropped the phone, stretching back down onto his bed—Steve suddenly sat up. What was underneath him was not his bed. It was warm and breathing, and possibly…snoring?

Steve squinted, rubbing his eyes before realizing that he had just spent an entire night sleeping on top of Bucky Barnes after trying miserably to break up with him.

The sluggish part of Steve's brain still wasn't connecting the pieces. He gaped at Bucky for a long moment.

Bucky felt Steve shift, worm around on top of him. He was light, and Bucky'd had his arms locked around Rogers for the better part of the night. He could feel him moving now, and a slight smile curved his lips, still half-asleep.

"Morning." He muttered.

"I need to shower," Steve blurted out before closing his eyes. "We're going to be late for sure." His worry drifted away from him, seeing Bucky's smile. He couldn't help but return the gesture. His voice softened, pushing the hair out of Bucky's face with ease. "G'morning."

Bucky tightened his arms around Steve and pulled him over to the side, face-to-face, all messy hair and sleepy eyes.

"Nah. Skip with me. We could just stay here all day." He mumbled, pressing his forehead against Steve's.

Steve nuzzled close to him, too happy to fight with him over the importance of getting a proper education and the repercussions of missing too many days of school. Besides, he was a sucker for those sleepy eyes that now stared at him with such compassion—the same compassion that last night he had tried to snuff out. Guilt washed over Steve like a wave of shockingly cold water. He closed the small gap between their mouths and kissed him.

"I'll still need to run to school for a sec. I gotta grab my sketchbook. There was a drawing I've been meaning to give you."

Bucky smiled, lips and teeth pressed clumsily to Steve's.

"Can I sleep?" He asked, threading his hand through Steve's hair.

"Mmm, after breakfast you can sleep all you want." Steve's own hand tightened loosely on Bucky's back, remembering all he had been so willing to give up due to a stupid misunderstanding. "I'll make a feast fit for a king."

Bucky's blue eyes popped open, wide with excitement like a child on Christmas.

"Food?" He asked. His words were still slurred by sleepiness, but he was awake now.

Steve chuckled, nodding.

"Yes, Food. Bacon and eggs and toast. I'll make you the special Roger's omlette."

Bucky grinned.

"Sounds delicious." Bucky eyed Steve's ass. "Among other things." He heaved a pillow towards his boyfriend with the cocky grin that could only be presented by Bucky Barnes the bedhead.

Steve rolled his eyes, though grinning wildly. He dodged the pillow easily, grabbing his own pillow to shove into Bucky's chest.

"Such a jerk." He teased, expertly climbing out of the absurdly small bed and out into the main hall that connected to the kitchen. "If you hurry, you might get a piece of what you were looking at." He hollered back to the room, half surprised to see his mother already gone for the day.

Steve leaned against the pale counters to flick on the radio, humming along to the song that began to play.

Bucky stumbled loose from the sheets tangled around him, vaguely aware that he only had on boxers. He tried actively not to trip over their discarded clothes and schoolbooks as he followed the sound of the radio and Steve's humming down the hall.

Steve already had two frying pans out, and a ton of ingredients spread out before him.

With only his pajama pants on underneath, Steve wore a very fashionable 'Kiss The Cook' apron that could have been three sizes too big for him. This didn't deter him as he turned to grin at Bucky.

Bucky closed in on him quickly for someone who was so tired and so distracted, but found Steve's shy lips with ease. He grinned against his mouth, tugging at the apron and squeezing Steve's ass.

Steve squirmed under Bucky's grasp, though not from discomfort. He returned the kiss with fervor, looping his arms around Bucky's neck to give him more leverage against the still sleepy bad-boy.

His fingers found Bucky's hair and tightened in them, keeping Bucky there in that kiss a moment longer before Steve pulled away for a breath.

His cheeks were ridiculously tinted red. Bucky grinned.

"You're like my lovely housewife, Rogers." He giggled, trying to be helpful but following Steve like a puppy.

Steve hustled around easily, moving like a very serious asthma prone tornado.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, Barnes." Steve tossed two tomatoes towards Bucky. "Now chop, sous-chef."

Bucky saluted, picking up a knife to clumsily imitate Steve's neat chops.

Steve couldn't help but laugh at Bucky's sloppy chopping. It took himself many years from flanking his mother's side to learn how to do anything in the kitchen.

He curved around Bucky from behind, taking hold of his arms.

"No, do it more like this, angle the blade down more, and go slower or they might get crushed."

He leaned his head against Bucky's side, helping him for a moment before turning his head slightly and giving his side a quick but painless bite before continuing to cut up onions.

Bucky felt himself blush before cocking a hip against Steve's stomach, putting on a pornstar voice and crooning, "Like this?" at him.

Steve's blush arose behind his nearly cocky grin. "Perfect," He set the knife down to wrap his arms around Bucky's middle. He gave a tight squeeze, pressing himself completely against Bucky's back. "Keep chopping like this and you'll be the next five-star chef."

"Or a five-star stripper. Careers are hard." He muttered, laughing softly as he obeyed.

"Most definitely," Steve chuckled, unable to stop himself from imagining Bucky working a pole with ease. He turned back to other parts of omlette making to hide his faint blush from Bucky.

The fire on the stove was hot as Steve poured oil into the pan, humming alone to the song that played on the radio.

"I'm going to need your tomatoes here shortly,"

"I'll do my best. Or worst, and I'll pretend I wasn't trying." He said uneasily, with a flash grin as he continued his clumsy chopping.

Steve rolled his eyes, though still chuckling.

"Very funny. Remember we'll be eating this afterwards." He glanced over at Bucky but his gaze remained, and again that guilt returned.

"Listen Bucks, about last night. I'm..." He trailed off, not sure if sorry was, well, sorry enough for him. He had made him cry, and the fact that he did so just left a giant ache between his ribs.

Bucky shook his head fervently, keeping his eyes on his task.

"It ain't something you need to worry about, Steve." He said softly.

"I'm still going to apologize for it," He sat his spoon down, turning towards Bucky. "That one girl just kept going on and on about how you'd never like someone like me and I believed her." He looked down towards his bowl again. "I'm gonna make it up to you though, I promise."

"She's full'a shit. Just mad 'cause I like dick." He grinned, sliding the cutting board towards Steve. "You don't have to. But I ain't gonna stop you."

Steve grinned slightly, mixing the tomatoes in with the rest of the ingredients: spinach, cheese and mushrooms.

"Such language, Barnes. I can't believe I've kissed that mouth." He teased, stirring easily. "And don't worry, It'll be my pleasure to treat ya."

Bucky grinned, smacking him on the ass with a wooden spoon with a fiendish smile.

"I think it'll be mine."

Steve jumped, nearly squeaking. The deep crimson of a serious blush spread down his neck as he shot Bucky a playful glare.

"You might enjoy it too much."

"I enjoy everything too much." Bucky said theatrically, collapsing against the counter. "It's a curse."

Steve took the opportunity to return the groping, grabbing Bucky's butt firmly with both hands.

"What ever will we do with someone as cursed as yourself?"

Bucky half-squeaked.

"Damn, Rogers! You can do whatever you want!" His words dissolved into affectionate giggling.

Bucky's laugh was infectious, quickly taking Steve along with his own chuckle.

"Like I said, you'd enjoy that too much. Now go put on proper clothing. I'll have the food on the table by the time you get out."

Bucky rolled his eyes and saluted, sauntering cockily back to Steve's room.

Steve, true to his word, had both omlettes served with toasted bagels within minutes. He had just begun to pour orange juice into different cups before starting to clean up. His apron hung deftly on a hook besides the fridge.

"Impressive, housewife Rogers." Bucky grinned, wandering in his crumpled clothes, leather jacket draped over his arm.

"For someone who doesn't sleep in any clothes they always seem to look as if you did," Steve returned his grin with a matching one. "Juice is on the counter,"

"It's a lifestyle I'm very dedicated to." He mumbled slyly, smirking as he followed Steve's lead.

"I think I prefer it that way," Steve looked away shyly, turning to grab the glasses for them both. Setting them down at the small kitchen table he shrugged. "I mean the not…sleeping in them part."

Bucky scoffed.

"Please. No need to act like you weren't _obviously _checking me out."

"Like you weren't doing the same!" Steve giggled, taking a seat and hiding his blush with his hands.

Bucky raised his palms in open defense.

"I admit freely to it!" He laughed as he seated himself opposite.

"Eat your food, James Barnes, or so help me." Steve grinned, finally pulling his hands free from his face to pick up his fork.

"Yes sir." Bucky winked and followed suit, finding a subtle comfort in his affectionate back-and-forth with his new boyfriend.

Steve settled into the silence like an old friend, too busy chewing to fill the gaps with conversation. Instead he flicked open a newspaper that had previously been on the counter, open, scanning the headlines for any news. He chewed thoughtfully, scooting the paper towards Bucky after reading the top articles. Nothing there was of real interest to Steve.

The silence was comforting in a way. He didn't feel obligated trying to cease it. Light streamed in and Steve felt at home sitting across from Bucky in his small makeshift dining room.

Bucky felt similarly. Sunlight soaked and eating delicious food, tied to nothing but the boy across from him, Bucky was washed over by unfamiliar contentment.

Time passed slowly, but Steve suddenly realized that it still held a presence. He glanced towards the clock and stood up, stretching.

"I'mma run and grab my sketchbook. I'll be right back, I swear. You can go back to sleep if you want." He smiled sheepishly, moving to grab his own coat.

Bucky grinned, waving away his reassurance.

"Take your time, Rogers. When you get back you can draw me like one of your French girls."

Steve bowed slightly, though all it did was show the red creeping up under his collar.

"Give your 'good housewife' a kiss before they leave, ya jerk."

Bucky grabbed him by the jaw, gentle but firm and pressed his lips hard against Steve's. "Come home soon, honey." He grinned.

Steve didn't want to admit it, but Bucky calling him 'honey' sent chills down his spine in a way that Steve didn't even know was possible. His own smile radiated warmth as he half saluted.

"Anything for you, Sweets." He turned on his heels and he was off. 

Clouds streaked the skies graciously, blue dotted between the white. Overall it was a perfect day. Steve mostly just felt refreshed after the blow out with Bucky. His Bucky still wanted him. Even after Steve begged and pleaded and yelled Bucky still stayed.

Nothing could have been better confirmation of his feelings. There was something there as tangible as that first drunken kiss in front of the ravine. It wasn't just promises and clunky dancing in the middle of a diner. It was falling asleep engulfed in the arms of Bucky for the second time. It was waking up to his cologne and his smoke and his sleepy eyed 'hello'.

Steve never knew much of love. The only love he had ever really known had walked out of his life in the form of his father before he was even born. The only love had left his mother broken down and waiting by the telephone for years and years for a man who would never call. The love he knew came in pieces and fragments that always seemed too sharp to handle, too fake to be real.

His love didn't come easily, it never had. He had built himself a shield to protect him from heartbreak and loss. Growing up he found himself too often in hospitals, but he had been haunted by things the doctors could never fix.

You couldn't fix a teary eyed boy who had just been pushed into the dust for the first time. There were no bandages for the sting of _'why doesn't anyone like me?'_. There were no rulebooks for a broken heart. 

Then Bucky Barnes came tumbling in, a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth as if the entire world owed him just for the grace of his presence. He acted as if he owned everything and no one could ever bring him down. How could Steve not fall head over heels in love with a man who was a prince in an old beat up leather jacket?

How couldn't anyone act like Bucky wasn't the only reason to wake up in the morning, knowing full well anyone could never deserve him? It wasn't idolism, it was more like taking in a deep breath of air when your entire life you had simply been underwater too long. That's what it felt like, being in his presence. It was being best friends with the sun, it was singing in the rain and appearing at gas stations at three in the morning to split a slushie.

Now with complete confirmation of everything Steve had hoped for, he felt somehow renewed. A heavy burden had been taken from his shoulders. It was the strangest feeling, knowing that someone else out there actually gave a damn.

It wasn't before long that Steve was at the school. He disappeared into the crowd easily, heading towards his locker to grab some of his things. He wasn't planning on staying long. After all, he planned to skip the day to spend making it up to Bucky after his behavior. He just wanted his sketchbook for some...personal...reasons.

On his way back out to the scooter, Steve tripped over a giant crack in the sidewalk. His sketchbook went sprawling, pages scattering across the asphalt. Steve groaned, his cheek scrapping the ground when he fell. Sitting up he wiped the dirt off his face, looking disheartened at all of his sketches. It took him a moment to get up and start collecting them again.  
He bent down, gathering the last of them. The one sketch with the intricate rose skidded across the ground and Steve found himself chasing after it, finding it more irritating that it was getting dirty in the wind.

Steve only stopped when Daniel Halls, the leading runner for the baseball team, picked up the drawing. He examined it upside down momentarily before letting it go in the wind again. "So, Steve Rogers. Playing hooky, are we?"

Steve didn't answer at first, watching as his drawing took a path into the wooded area surrounding their school. His heart slowly sank. This was still his life. A boyfriend wouldn't change that.

"Where's your bodyguard, Rogers?" Daniel continued. "He taking the day off, or did you finally leave him when you found out he was sucking someone else's dick?"

Steve's jaw clenched, and he held his sketchbook tighter to his chest.

"You don't know him, Halls."

"I knew him long enough. He gives the best head the first time. After that, you're old news. You best be packing your bags, Stevie, cause you're running out of time."

"I doubt he ever liked someone like you." Steve chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing as Daniel approached him.

With one swipe of his hand Daniel had most of Steve's shirt crumpled in his grasp. He easily lifted Steve off the ground to meet his height. "You're going to ever regret stepping foot onto this campus, boy."

Steve looked him dead in the eye, not even flinching. This was his life story. Part of him felt the words drip onto his tongue, begging him to say it, to say _bring it on_. Another bully was just another face in the crowd. Steve wasn't going to be scared of them, of faceless nameless people who jeered at him for daring to be more.

Daniel shoved him down onto the ground, kicking his sketchbook to the side.

"He loved me first." Daniel spit, sending a kick right into Steve's side. Steve cringed, bringing his legs up as pain shot through his ribs.

"That's not love," Steve managed to bite through. "You don't know what that even is." Steve coughed, struggling to sit up.

Daniel kicked him back down, scowling deeply at Steve.

"Shut up, Shut up! You shouldn't even be alive!" He kicked Steve's side again, and again until he heard things start to break. "You're nothing, a scrawny punk, a goody two-shoes try hard who gets everyone's sympathy. You don't deserve it. None of it."

Steve coughed, again this time blood tainting the pale of his lips.

"At least, I'm not a bully." He was able to choke out. There was a great rocking pain in both his sides. He felt like something was stabbing into his ribs, and even worse, he couldn't breathe, but he wasn't about to give up. He tried to sit up again, but couldn't. His hands kept slipping against the concrete.

His head fell back and Steve winced. His mind was swimming. Suddenly Daniel wasn't there anymore. Distant footsteps running away were war drums in his head, and all Steve could focus on was the lovely idea of falling asleep.

**A/N: "Anything For You" by Ludo. It's not my fault, I swear, co-writer is a sadist! We did some fluff though…we thought you deserved it before we kicked you in the face again. Best x Michelle**


End file.
